


Can't Find My Way Home

by shotgunsammy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, So much angst, Suicidal Thoughts, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 19:16:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4274895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotgunsammy/pseuds/shotgunsammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So much Weecest angst, I apologize.</p>
<p>(Sam is around 18 years old, but there's mentions of underage brother-fucking, so if this isn't your cup of tea, feel free to move along.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Find My Way Home

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from tumblr (honeymish)

It’s late when Dean pushes open the door to the motel, making sure to keep quiet so he doesn’t wake up Sam. The events of his night are starting to feel fuzzy from the alcohol, and all he wants to do is crawl into bed and forget about all the guilt he feels pushing down on his shoulders.

He’s halfway to his bed when he hears Sam sniffle. “Dean,” he says in a flat tone, “what are you doing?”. It’s comes out soft, sounding more rhetorical than inquisitive. Dean knows Sam isn't asking what he's doing at the moment; means "what are you doing running off every night to get drunk?" when he knows the answer perfectly well. Sam sniffles again and Dean’s heart breaks a little more.

He kicks off his boots and sheds his flannel, making his way towards his bed. “Go to sleep, Sam.” he responds, voice barely a whisper. He slides into bed and tries not to think about his heartbroken brother laying three feet away. Tries to remind himself of how wrong this is. Remind himself of why he broke it off in the first place.

This all started when Sam was sixteen. Actually, they both know it started long before that, that it’s probably always been there. But neither of them acted on it —whatever “it” is— until two years ago. It was an accident, really, but it was bound to happen sooner or later. This has been going on for almost two years, but right before Sam’s eighteenth birthday, the guilt got to be too much to handle and Dean broke it off.

In the last three months, he’d been spending almost every single night at a bar getting drunk off his ass, and trying to pick up girls. The blonder and shorter and less  _Sam_ , the better. But he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it. No matter what, he couldn’t betray Sam like that, couldn’t share himself with anyone else. So he drank some more, until he knew he had to stop if he wanted to get back to the motel-of-the-week without crashing the car.

Sometimes, he just kept drinking. Thought, maybe if he crashed the car, Sam would be better off without him. Thought he deserved to get in a crash. That maybe the guilt wouldn’t feel so bad once he was roasting in Hell —he had a one-way ticket downstairs, that was for sure— and that maybe he’d be doing the world a favor for once.

Sam’s still sniffling as Dean thinks back on how this could have all been avoided. If only he’d just controlled himself, looked out for Sammy like he’s supposed to. He tenses when he hears the springs squeak as Sam gets up from his bed, and the soft padding of his brother’s feet as he crosses the short distance separating their two beds. He holds his breath as he feels the covers shift and the warm body settle behind him.

Sam doesn’t touch him, knows it’s not allowed anymore and Dean knows it’s killing him. Killing them both. But they can’t, because it’s wrong and he needs to remember that, remind himself that he’s doing this to protect Sammy. Just hopes that late really is better than never.

Sam’s hand hovers over his thigh for a mindless second before he stops himself and clenches it into a fist. That’s when Dean hears it. Quiet sobs coming from his brother as his fist still hovers over his older brother’s leg. Dean’s heart breaks a little more. He would give anything to gather Sam up in his arms and make it all stop, but he can’t. He can’t because he’s the problem and the only solution, and when did this get so messed up? When did the line between fraternal love and romance get crossed, and why did he let it happen, and was there ever even a line for them to begin with?

Two hands clench to the back of his t-shirt and then Sam’s gone, violent sobs wracking his body. Silent tears roll down Dean’s cheeks and drop onto the pillow, consoling himself with the thought that it’s better if he’s the one going out to destroy himself in bars than to keep fucking up his baby brother’s life. Sam’s sobs get louder and louder, soon turning into broken pleas. “I’m so sorry, Dean, whatever I did, I’m so sorry,” Sam cries into his shirt, “please just come back to me, Dean. Please. Please just come back to me, I’m so sorry.” and that’s just the last straw.

His little brother blaming himself for his own faults is Dean’s breaking point, and he turns around and wraps his brother in his arms, touching him like he hasn’t in months. They’re both crying freely now, Sam still holding onto Dean’s shirt as he presses kisses to Sam’s head and whispers “Not your fault, Sammy, shh.” and “I’m sorry, baby, so sorry. Please don’t cry, won’t ever leave you again, I promise.” into his brother’s hair, rocking him gently until the sobs turn to muffled cries and eventually subside.

Sam falls asleep in Dean’s arms as his brother brushes his fingers through his hair. They have a lot to talk about in the morning, but for now Dean lets himself slip into a much needed slumber as he holds his world in his arms. For the first time in three months, he feels at home.


End file.
